


Jack Baker's Middle-Aged Spread

by BloodylocksBathory



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belly Kink, Burping, Cannibalism, Game: Resident Evil 7, Gross, Hard vore, Resident Evil 7: Jack's 55th Birthday DLC, Stuffing, Vomiting, Vore, expansion, of course it is with this DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29567328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodylocksBathory/pseuds/BloodylocksBathory
Summary: It's Jack's birthday, but he's not interested in presents, it's-- oh hell, you know how it goes. Enjoy this twisted tale of gluttony in gross Resident Evil fashion.
Relationships: Jack Baker/Marguerite Baker, Zoe Baker & Mia Winters
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

By pure coincidence, one of the Baker family was under a particularly focused moment of control by Eveline when they walked through the kitchen and noticed a date circled on the calendar, January 17th, with an addendum scribbled beneath: "daddy's birthday!" The calendar itself was a little over a year old, so the placement within the week had only changed by one day. Just Evie's luck.

The girl had an austere understanding of traditions and recently learned more about holidays in particular several weeks ago during Christmas. Not that the event had been all that celebratory, not with the Bakers themselves still fighting against her gift every so often. However, she could detect their mood brightening ever so slightly at the sight of the decorations, and as such, had not 

She was only aware of birthdays because Mia had celebrated Evie's on her behalf, and now was the chance to further deduce what all the fuss was about. 

Perhaps she really was just humoring tradition for mere curiosity alone. Perhaps this was Eveline's attempt at maintaining loyalty through rewards, as though the Bakers were dogs instead of people. Former people. Whatever it was they were now. 

No matter the reason, Jack Baker's 55th birthday was definitely going to be celebrated. The trick was just figuring out how. Eveline searched through the hive mind for clues, glanced here and there with each family member’s memories. She didn’t look for anything specific, just any kind of hint, anything to do with the eldest Baker’s interests. Jack himself - the old Jack, the one she had buried to make room for a better Jack, a properly devoted father - was not cooperative, but no matter. There had to be something…

She skidded to a halt, looked back, stared hard at the image of a cake. When Mia had introduced the concept of birthdays to her, she discussed cakes. This memory revealed the cake was on a table, in front of Jack, who was smiling. He mentioned dinner, which Marguerite was proudly preparing. Tom yum, whatever that was. Red wine. Chicken creole…

This was almost too easy. Eveline could barely wait until the 17th.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hoo boy, I'm hungry. What is takin' so damn long??"

"Comin' soon, daddy," Zoe called back through the hallway. Apart from Mia, she was the only one running the kitchen. Marguerite was scurrying around the estate, searching for some special ingredient, the nature of which she hadn't specified. Lucas, reliable as he ever was, had disappeared several hours ago to only God knew where.  _ Piss-head... _

“Well, step on it!” Jack called back to her. “I’m wastin’ away here!”

“Yes, daddy.” She was glad he couldn’t see her rolling her eyes.

Living in this hellhole that once was Zoe's home was already bad enough, what with half-dead half-alive monsters that were once members of her own family. Now her father had descended into a primal hunger and demanded a birthday feast. Considering the clusterfuck that was Christmas, she reasoned this was also Eveline's doing. If that were the case, Zoe focused on the task at hand rather than let her thoughts dwell on the twisted little brat. Better to avoid her resentment being telepathically overheard.

"Grab that tom yum," she ordered Mia, who picked up a dingy bowl, reconsidered, and then left alone. Jack would likely ignore bowls and just eat directly from the stewpot.

Her theory was proven correct. In no time at all, Jack's shirt sleeves and trousers were stained anew with the sloppy traces of his ongoing birthday feast. He was more than a man possessed - it was like he existed only to consume, a suitable simile for the mold which had seized every square inch of the Baker estate. The den where he had parked his backside quickly became an irreparable mess of his making that neither Mia nor Zoe wanted to clean. They had learned the hard way that cheese didn’t agree with him, even with his rate of regeneration. The splatter from his vomit was still staining the table and floor at an impressive span of three feet, give or take a few inches. Mia had asked if Jack was lactose intolerant, and even though this was true, Zoe suspected the reaction was deliberately melodramatic.

"While you tuck into that, we'll bring out more," Mia said as she and Zoe retreated through the wide open doorway. Jack didn’t even look up from his meal.

"Be a doll and whip me up sum'uh that eyeball pâté while yer at it."

Zoe grated her teeth as she searched for more with which to stuff her monstrous father’s greedy guts. Mia was desperate to add some levity, lest she give into the madness at hand.

"I don’t suppose he was always this hungry…?”

Zoe didn’t look at her, frowning ahead. "Not at this rate. Come on, I think we got an egg beater stowed away somewhere."

"Is that how pâté is made?"

"Hell if I know."

*

In the past year since Eveline first seized the estate, Mia had thought she was developing quite the mental fortitude, if not against perverse telepathic demands then the ugly sights and sounds of the Bakers' goings on. Then something would happen, something she'd never seen or considered before, and change her resolve. For example, the way the molded bit off the heads of any poor bastards who bumped into them was downright disgusting. Presently Mia would have preferred to see that over the way Jack ate. Before his mutation, he likely had table manners. At the very least, he had to have used silverware instead of grabbing handfuls of food and shoving it into his mouth.

As her repulsive diner leaned back and chugged an entire bottle of cheap wine, Mia took notice of something else disconcerting. Jack didn’t appear to have a limit. She'd seen him take wrought-iron fence posts through the heart and buckshot point blank from victims trying to defend themselves, and yet he'd still laugh and shrug off the damage as though he felt nothing. Maybe he didn't feel fullness either; it would make sense with him sitting there gorging himself and swelling up like a tick. How much could he take before he popped? Neither Mia nor Zoe wanted to be present for that, not for the sight of it and not to determine if the splash zone was just as caustic as some of the fatter molded downstairs. 

At the kitchen counter, Zoe wiped her brow, sweat and grime coming away on her forearm. One specific smear looked to be the same color of the pâté. She resisted the urge to kick in a wall. Instead she slapped away a small pile of party accessories from the counter. Most of them were inoperable kazoos and plastic clappers in the shape of hands, but most obnoxious were the conical yellow hats and plastic glasses with red clown noses attached. 

Just how long would Eveline maintain this nonsense, she wondered. If it came to an end ( _ please, God, please _ ), what then? She could just as easily make the family forget it ever happened, and wouldn’t that be just the bee’s fucking knees? It was no use requesting, though. Ever the petulant child, Evie would just do the opposite, if it suited her mood.

Jack looked groggy after the bottle of wine and two bottles of beer. By the time Mia and Zoe had found some raw chicken cutlets to present to him, they noticed a distinct lack of nagging demands echoing down the hallway. They approached on tiptoe, bringing food with them to be on the safe side. One face peered around the corner of the doorway, followed by another. Both disappeared into the hallway soon after. Mia was the first to speak, her voice barely even a whisper.

"I think he's asleep."

Both girls peered around the doorframe a second time, emboldened to look longer than two seconds. Jack sat back in the rickety old chair, head rolled to an awkward position thanks to gravity. Stains of various sizes and ages decorated him, more garish than the old Christmas garlands. His shirt strained against its buttons, the material looking near its limit but inexplicably holding on. He snored, which encouraged drooling.

He was noisy, but he was definitely asleep.

“What do we do with this?” Mia wondered aloud, holding the plate of slimy cutlets. "Maybe we can just put whatever’s left in the fridge." 

"That fridge ain't been workin' since you got here. Besides, I doubt the meat being rancid would keep him from eating it at this point."

Zoey was so distracted whispering to Mia that she didn't notice where her feet were going. When she knocked into the base of a hat rack, the subsequent bang against a wall made both women freeze in place. They watched the sleeping figure with wide eyes as Jack fidgeted, then went still, snoring again. Both released breaths they hadn't realized they were holding and continued to creep past the doorway. They were almost out of sight when a baseball cap fell off the rack and lightly landed on the floor.

Jack snorted as he jolted awake, then let loose a combination of hiccup and burp.

"Zoey. Izzat more food?" 

"Damn it," she muttered, then spoke up, "yes daddy." 

He fully awoke then. "Well, bring it over! I ain't had nearly enough yet!"

“Of course he had a second wind,” Zoe grumbled as they walked through the hallway, hands empty.

Mia cocked an eyebrow. "It's not like he has to eat either, right?" 

"Not that I know of. Which would be real nice right now, because this place is running out of meat." 

"Short of maybe the gators…” Mia trailed off, and Zoe's eyes bugged.

"Don't say tha"-- 

She was too late. Jack’s voice filled the hall.

"Gator meat, now that sounds delicious!"


	3. Chapter 3

Rustling up gators was of course easier said than done, and that was in regards to normal specimens. Even if Mia and Zoe could actually catch one of the mold-mangled beasts crawling around the swamps, they were not enthusiastic about finding out what it took to kill one. Fortunately, the young women managed to convince Jack of this.

"Well hell, girls," he replied, moving to stand, "I could just go bag 'em myself and then you can…"

Jack surprised himself when he couldn't rise. He had forgotten just how far gone he was in his greedy gobbling, how overstuffed and downright heavy he was compared to hours before. He heavily sank back onto the groaning chair and faced the very weird reality that he had pinned himself to his own seat.

"Fine. Quit draggin' yer asses and bring me the next course."

_ A ‘please’ would have been nice _ , Mia thought.

"Thank goodness he didn't get too mad about the gators," she said back in the kitchen, her voice low and quiet.

"I'm not so sure," Zoe replied in the same tone. "For all we know, he might eat one of us."

Both women jumped at the sudden banging open of the nearby veranda door, resuming a relieved annoyance when they saw only Lucas entering the kitchen.

"Don't worry, I ain't here to help with girly chores," he stated as he crossed the room. "Just takin' a detour. Apparently mama run afoul a'them molded an' she's stuck healin' up in the basement!"

Mia pursed her lips as the young man chortled over his mother’s predicament. What little she could remember of the Bakers before Evie's takeover was their kindness, their altruism, but Lucas? She hadn't seen or heard much of him back then, and she had a feeling he was already an asshole before possession by mold. She thought about what Zoe had just said before they were interrupted, how lucky they were that Jack's appetite hadn't explored the idea of human meat.

_ If only… _

Mia couldn't believe the idea which popped into her head, nor the lack of hesitation in enacting it. She didn't even know if this would work, but it wouldn't hurt to find out.

"Uh... hey Lucas, your father wants you to bring him these." Mia said, grabbing a hat and spectacles from the scattered accessories. "Something about looking more festive."

Lucas promptly turned around and put his hands on his hips, ready to argue. "But what…"

"Git a move on and do as he says!" Zoe interjected, catching on. "You know how he gets."

Grumbling, Lucas snatched the accessories and stomped away like a child. By the time he reached the den, Jack was polishing off another bottle of beer. He did a double take at the state of his father.

"Here ya go, old man," the younger man began to say, only to hear Mia's voice shout from the doorway.

"Look, Mr. Baker, food!"

Lucas looked back at Mia, who was pointing right at him, then to his father, who was salivating and grinning at him like a rabid animal. As Jack raised an impromptu weapon, his son only had time to exclaim:

"No, daddy, nooooo"--

Lucas' pleas for mercy were cut short as a dull butter knife was lodged into his cranium with a sharp squelching sound. Zoe joined Mia at the doorway and shuddered. Together they bore witness to the macabre sight of Jack gnawing on the remains of his son's head. The rest of Lucas twitched here and there until his father wrenched the head off with a sickening pop, letting the rest fall to the hardwood floor.

"This ain't enough! I need more!" Jack demanded, taking another bite. The flesh of Lucas' face stretched and snapped like a rubber band as it was torn off the bone. He seemed distracted enough with his latest snack that Mia and Zoe felt confident in entering empty handed. If Jack had noticed their presence, he didn't care.

The girls each grabbed an ankle and dragged the corpse into the kitchen, both trying their damnedest to ignore the slate colored blood trailing from the neck stump.

"Damn, we're gonna need a bigger oven," she mused aloud as she stripped away Lucas' clothes. "Either that or we serve this in parts."

"Why are we spending time trying to cook? I doubt he'll be bothered if it's raw." 

"It makes it look less like a person." She lifted the cleaver, hesitating to deliver the first strike. Mia could only imagine the other woman's internal struggle. Lucas was a sociopath, and a spoiled brat on top of it, but the desecration of family members, no matter how awful they were, left an acrid taste in the back of the throat. Like damnation was a little more real, and a lot more possible.

"I'll do it," Mia offered, but Zoe was already shutting her eyes and bringing down the blade, grimacing at the sound of the chop.

Lucas' body was dismembered quickly after that first cut. Making all the difference to their progress was the absence of his head, which Jack had cracked open with his bare hands and proceeded to suck out the pickled grey matter from within the bare skull.

"This is great! Keep it comin'," he managed to declare around mouthfuls of brain and cartilage. When he couldn't reach the contents at the far side of the cranium, he scooped it out with his hand, licking the traces off of his fingers. Jack knew full well that his son could regenerate just like the rest of the family, and as such he hardly cared about the moral implications of eating his own kin.

Besides, Lucas just tasted so fuckin' good. When he regenerated, he was definitely back on the menu.

In his consciousness he could hear Eveline agreeing.

*

"This thing had better heat up quick,” Zoe said, standing before the oven, arms folded. “It won't take him much longer to finish that head."

"Should we be basting or…" Mia trailed off, realizing what she was talking about.  _ Ugh _ . She hoped to high heaven that Eveline wasn’t listening in. 

_ Because I'm about ready to strangle her for getting me into this mess. _

An awkward silence filled the kitchen as they waited for the oven to heat up. Apart from the repulsive sounds of Jack's eating, the women thought they might've heard the distant melody of Marguerite's furious shrieking.

"Perhaps you should say something?" Mia spoke up. Zoe glanced her way. 

"Huh?" 

"A eulogy maybe? He was your brother after all."

Zoe scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t see a point. He won’t be gone long. Unfortunately.”

Jack had reached the end of his cannibalistic appetizer and was absent-mindedly spitting out the skull’s teeth like watermelon seeds. Mia wished with all her might for Jack to try swallowing a pepper grinder and choke on it for a while. Obviously it wouldn't kill him, but it would keep him distracted for a little while. But as his fetid brain was fixed on only one thing, cooking would have to wait.

"Alright, alright, we’ll worry about using the oven later,” Mia announced, dropping a tepid pair of arms into a baking pan. “Let's just get this first pan out to him..." 

"Wait..." Zoe reached into a spice rack and uncapped a small bottle, pouring a generous amount onto the arms. Mia wrinkled her nose in an unavoidable sneer.

"Are you sprinkling cayenne powder on your brother?" 

"It's my dad's favorite seasoning," Zoe explained with a small sigh. Mia couldn’t help the little ache she felt in her heart despite the neverending madness.

"Less like a person?"

"Uh huh."

Mia hurried back to the den, hearing Jack pound on the table with both fists. “Hurry up, I’m near starved to death!” His belly indicated otherwise. 

“Something to tide you over, Mr. Baker?" she asked, feeling winded. She couldn’t believe this was what her life had become: feeding an undead man his own son.

“Fork it over,” he growled. Grabbing a forearm with both hands, he tore at the flesh with his teeth. For a moment he coughed on the excessive cayenne powder, but he was undeterred. He thumped his chest with a fist and a slight tremor passed through his overstuffed gut as he burped.

"Eh… it was alright."

Mia left the den, replaced by Zoe holding a plate of lungs soon after. Between servings, her father had decided to put on the hat and glasses. Zoey quietly laughed the laugh normally reserved for war veterans and psychotics. It was the laugh of someone who had seen too much fucked up shit.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack made short work of his son's carcass, piece by piece, and his daughters (biological and otherwise) barely managed to send out the rest in a timely manner. So enthused was he to finish that he didn't notice the strain on his shirt until he heard the unmistakable ping of a button shooting under the table. He scooted his chair back, saw the outrageously distended state of his belly, as well as the broken threads where the lowest button originally stayed. The fact that the other buttons remained and the seams held together was a wonder, but he wasn't about to take chances and waste a perfectly serviceable shirt. He wouldn't have heard the end of it from Marguerite.

The fleshy dome, its shape imperfect from the ripples of the enduring fabric, proved near impossible to suck in, but after muttering a few curses and concentrating, he finally managed to undo the buttons and his gut surged outward. He let out a hearty burp and only then in his satisfied relief did he notice Mia and Zoe in the doorway, staring agape at the sight of him.

"The hell'r you lookin' at?"

"Um…" luckily for her, Zoe found her voice quickly. "Just checking to see if you're full."

Jack immediately scooted his chair forward again, filmy eyes brightening.

"I'm alright, I can still fit a little more!"

"Next plate's almost ready then. Oh by the way, daddy, did you check the bones?"

"Oh, that's right!" Grabbing an ulna off his most recent plate, he easily cracked the bone open. His sounds of satisfaction sounded more like moaning, specifically the kind made in the bedroom. He didn't notice the quick retreat of the girls, nor their disgusted expressions.

"Mm. S'good."

Fingertips drifted along hot, tight skin as he admired his freakish appearance and the sensation of his full guts. It hurt to high hell, but he felt so goddamn satisfied. His former, weaker self was getting the worst of the discomfort, but the damn fool's complaining was stifled and locked away in the hive mind. If his old self got the brunt, his new self would keep going.

*

"I bought us some time," Zoe said as she and Mia returned to the kitchen. "He'll be busy for a good minute, sucking out the marrow." She blew a stray hair from her face, mindful not to touch with her gore-stained hands. Hopefully she could have a plunge in the swamp after this ludicrous chore, and if that meant getting nipped by the occasional leech then it was a fair trade, because damn, she missed showering. She could be having one right now, not realizing how much of a luxury it was, if Eveline hadn’t fucked things up.

Not that this was exclusively Eveline’s fault. When she and Mia arrived, with Evie taking hold of the grounds and residents, Mia never denied her own culpability. That said, it wasn't Mia's idea to turn the eldest of the Bakers into a living, shouting garbage disposer. What exactly was Eveline’s endgame? Did she have one, or was she just doing this for a lark, only stopping when she got bored? Neither explanation was any better than the other.

"You said you'd do some chopping instead?" Zoe addressed Mia. "Do this part."

Mia didn't have to ask why her offer was accepted. She looked at the paring knife, then at Lucas' naked backside. She took the knife without pause, but handled the rump delicately, touching as little of it as possible. 

"It's a wonder there's any meat at all." She instantly regretted voicing her thoughts and could feel the frigid glare on her.

The half roasted rump was the last serving of the night, though not for lack of trying on anyone's part. A succession of sharp burps rattled out of Jack's throat and he leaned back in his chair, ignoring the tormented creak of the wood. He was in pain, but content, and the pain wasn't anything that a good rub couldn't fix. Legs spread to accommodate his bulk, he clapped a hand over his tumescent belly. Even in its fullness, it jiggled a little with the slap.

"Whew. I don't think I could eat anymore."

 _Thank fucking god,_ Mia thought. Zoe thought the same as they watched Jack lull into a food coma. Only when he looked as dead as his complexion implied did they sneak out of the den, this time not knocking anything over.

When they returned to the kitchen, Zoe opened the oven door, saw bits of Lucas emphatically quivering among the burnt dark stains, and shut the appliance without a second thought. Mia moved a chair to lean just under the door handle. With no other seats in the cramped space, they crouched down while they recharged. Neither dared to sit on the floor directly. Again, Mia felt the urge to lighten the mood.

"Your family is weird." 

"I wonder why," Zoe replied, giving her a dirty look. Mia didn't argue.

Speaking of family…

"Oh, shit, mama!" Zoe exclaimed as she raced down to the basement.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, hollering was heard in the kitchen, albeit muffled hollering. Lucas, regenerated and whole again, was stuck in the oven. The fashion in which he had healed left his arms and legs bent in impossible directions to acclimate to the cramped space. He looked more like a pretzel than a person.

“A lil’ help, sugartits?” he greeted Mia, who would have slammed the oven shut if Zoe wasn’t standing between them.

"Damn. Just when I thought I was finally rid of you…"

"Aww, I'm hurt, sis."

Both Mia and Zoe were operating on an average of five hours of sleep, but they had no other choice but to get up and continue with yesterday's chore. The basement, though labyrinthine and teaming with mold monsters, was navigable enough for Zoe to find Marguerite. Her mother was already in a foul mood, not so much from any inability to recover from a molded's attack but more to do with being trapped in one of the dissection room's steel compartments. No one put the notion of certain rigged traps past Lucas, who was looking mighty pleased for a guy who had been roasted and cannibalized by his own family. Leering at Mia, he took his sweet time getting dressed in front of her. Zoe meanwhile made herself scarce once more, uncertain of how her own mother might react to seeing one of the girls poking about the estate, let alone both of them. By the time Marguerite arrived in the kitchen, her daughter had retreated back to the trailer outside.

"Them sonsabitches almost took alla my ingredients," Marguerite grumbled, removing her collection from a black trash bag. Both Mia and Lucas' jaws dropped at the gathered squishy fruit, bags of white sugar, and outright garbage.

"The secret ingredient is garbage??" Lucas sputtered, then said under his breath. "Well ain't that a bitch in high heels…"

Stretching his arms until the joints cracked, he crossed the room and opened a spare beer, drinking from it. After the revelation of the secret ingredient, alcohol for breakfast sounded a little more rational.

"Is the ol' man still asleep?"

As though waiting for a cue, a belch that could've stoked the envy of a horny camel sounded from the den.

"Not anymore," Mia replied. She thought she might have seen the young man flinch, and his reply further supported her impression.

“I ain’t scared of some overfed old man anyhow.”

“You looked pretty goddamn scared last night.”

“I was not either, fuck you!” he snapped, then lowered his voice to a mutter. “As if he could lift his decrepit ass outta the chair…”

The wall right next to Lucas’ head shattered as a powerful fist rammed through and caught him by the throat. The rest of Jack followed, sending plaster and drywall throughout the kitchen. Age had fuck all to do with strength when under the influence of the black mold, and Jack's body betrayed no hindrance he would have had as a normal human. The party hat and plastic glasses had been ditched, not that he would have been that much less intimidating if he still wore them. His shirt yielded over the curve of leftover bloat, but he wasn’t nearly as big as he had gotten during his first sitting.

“That’s not the kinda language we allow in this fuckin’ house,” Jack told him with a wild-eyed grin.

Dropping his bottle, Lucas gasped for air and clawed at his father’s grip to no avail. Chances of his escape were nil, the rubber soles of his sneakers skidding uselessly off the grimy linoleum and scattered debris. Jack glanced at the shattered brown glass and puddle of alcohol on the floor and smirked.

" _And_ ya wasted a beer. You stay still now, boy, and ya won't have to be awake when ya go in the oven."

Lucas had no option to disobey, his throat squeezed beyond use of voice nor breath. He could only choke and accept defeat - and worse - as he waited for his inevitable slaughter. 

Adjusting his hold, Jack grabbed his son’s jaws with both hands and pried the mouth open ever wider until Lucas' head was again pulled from his neck. The lower jaw remained on the body, dangling by sinews, the tongue wagging about like a tail. It stayed delicately attached as the body fell in a twitching heap. Jack watched his son's eyes widen, the vestiges of his brain still seeing, still registering fear. He slid his revolting tongue on one eye, sucked hard until it popped free of its socket, and chewed, continuing with the other eye when finished with the first.

Mia surprised herself by how little she gagged.

"Good mornin', Jack!" Marguerite greeted her husband, the cheeriness in her voice sounding a little too forced. Mia wondered if the real Marguerite had been upset enough at the gruesome sight to try fighting for control.

"Good morning, Mr. Baker," she said. 

Jack glanced at them dully. His stomach growled, not just as a small rumble, it was loud enough to resemble a real growl.

"Still hungry." He pointed at the corpse. "Git to it." And he left without another word.

Marguerite's smile sank into a glare. She turned back to her ingredients and removed a circular cake pan from a nearby cabinet.

"Put that," she waved to Lucas' body without looking at it, then towards the space under the sink, "in there. Where is your sister anyway?"

The word 'sister' tripped Mia up, though only for a moment. Perhaps Marguerite's priorities for making the meals outweighed any offense felt towards her and Zoe both wandering freely. The only other 'sister' was useless for chores anyway. As far as Mia knew, Eveline was still in the parlor, sitting in her wheelchair with a liveliness challenged Lucas’ corpse.

"She's outside," she answered.

“Well bring her lazy ass in already!” the older woman spat. “She ain’t skirtin’ chores when it’s her father’s birthday, inconsiderate bitch.”

 _Christ_. Mia hurried to the telephone to call Zoe, stepping over the puddle as she went.

*

Having returned to the den, Jack was biding his time by guzzling beer and picking Lucas’ skull clean. The rest of the eldest Baker child was stuffed under the sink and steadily being pared away for meals more distinguished than last night’s attempts. Marguerite unceremoniously picked up the jaw and easily cut it from the corpse with one chop. Next were the hands and feet, unclothed but unwashed. The entirety was dumped into a saucepan on the stove and balanced on a warped, red hot burner. Her smile demented as ever, the matriarch added water to the putrid medley. 

"We leave these to simmer and 'afore ya know it, we'll have gravy!" she declared. "Now help me out with this fuckin' cake."

By the time the cake had finished baking, Lucas' head was halfway regrown and his body was making a commotion among the pipes. The chime of the kitchen timer was a relief to Zoe, as she had been keeping her father distracted with more beer and was soon running out. Marguerite had meanwhile prepared other smaller meals, including but not limited to literal finger-foods. The severed digits were sandwiched against brittle, stale crackers, and somehow they managed to be simultaneously disturbing and tacky.

“Cake’s done, take it out!” Marguerite snapped, focused on whipping up a coat for the dessert. Mia did **not** want to know what the hell Marguerite was using as a substitute for the icing. As long as Jack didn’t complain about it, ignorance was sweet, sweet bliss.

“An’ take out yer brother. We need to butter ‘im up before he goes in.”

Mia and Zoe had reached a state of consciousness where they heard the commands, but didn’t quite listen. They followed Marguerite’s commands and performed them as quickly as possible, but they had willed themselves into a machinelike mentality, waiting for the next step of food preparation. It would not be until much later in her trailer that Zoe would realize just how quiet it was in her brain in those moments. Eveline’s droning presence seemed quieter too. She had no idea if this was some embrace of zen-like enlightenment or transcendental meditation, but if she could do it once, she could do it again. As long as she kept her distance from the rest of the family, anyway. But with Jack behaving how he did under Eveline's control, Zoe wasn't sure if laying low was possible.

Back at his table, Jack had switched from beer to cheap grocery store wine, which he drank directly from the box. The floor below him had formed a wide, discolored ring of soggy muck made up of spilled food and drink. Mia hoped that was what it was, anyway.

"More! More!" he chanted in excitement.

Mia sighed as she came back from her wine search. "Does he feel the need to keep going until he blows up?"

"Careful," Zoe replied as she peered into the grease-stained window of the oven, "you'll give him ideas."

“Well, if it means he’ll stop…”

The oven door flew open and frenetic arms swung forward, reaching and grabbing at the counter's edge with pathetic attempts at regrown hands. Lucas called out loud and clear as he began to pull his naked self out. 

"I'M FREEEE"-

Cheering became screaming as Mia slammed the oven shut on his arms. Lucas pulled his limbs back in and his voice was muffled behind the door. Some of the shouting was a string of enraged curses, others cries of plain and simple agony. None of the outburst mattered, as Zoe cranked up the heat on the dial without hesitation. The screaming got louder and the appliance rattled, but eventually the noise fell away to be replaced by the oven's hum as it continued to cook.

Hands on her hips, Marguerite nodded and smiled wide, displaying dark teeth. "Gonna have a helluva good roast tonight!"

*

Jack scooped up fistfuls of the cake and thankfully made no complaints - or vomit - of the icing. As he savored the mystery confection, his son continued to cook. The pilot light was busted, so the women had to risk opening the oven a crack every now and then to check the meat's progress. The roasting looked to be coming along, though in the event that Lucas' silence might be a ruse, they always opened with weapons in hand.

The finished result turned Lucas Baker into something resembling the centerpiece of the most grotesque lūʻau ever bestowed. The scalded face, resembling King Rameses II, wore an expression that could only be described as dull shock, the eyeballs shriveled and dark. Along the way, Marguerite had thought to put an apple in his mouth. The mushy fruit oozed out the corners of Lucas' pulled back lips. His torso sat plainly, framed by severed limbs lacking hands or feet. What was meant as a savory sauce was too dark and rancid to identify.

Jack was so excited his fists performed a drumroll on the table. His beard was smeared with cake icing, as was his forearm where he had attempted to wipe his mouth clean. On his shirt, the top most button had been undone, but the next two down were absent altogether. Two remained, hanging on for dear life. Marguerite ignored the shabby state of her husband's clothes.

"Sorry we had to do dessert first, Jack."

"It don't matter to me. Just git that food into ma belly!"

His enthusiasm awoke a tiny bit of sadness in Mia, cannibalism be damned. She knew that in his previous life, before Eveline took hold, Jack would have been an endearing old cuss, possibly even cute, but she held no hope for the past repeating itself. Nevertheless, the fact nagged at her that she had only known the real Jack Baker for less than a minute and missed him, all the more so with the unbalanced ghoul which sat eating his own kin.

He continued to eat at a pace as though he hadn't eaten in years, resembling a monstrous feeding frenzy in an old zombie film. Clearly the mold had a steel grip on his appetite, as well as keeping him from feeling the pain a normal human would have felt ever since the first hour. He was possessed by the desire to fill himself past the brim. Stuffed beyond capacity...

_Ping_.

Zoe watched as a button zipped across the table and bounced off a vase.

"Damn it, I missed," Jack grumbled. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, concentrating on the final button. Marguerite, who on any other day would have been in hysterics over her husband's shirt, clapped her hands.

"Do it, Jack!" She exclaimed, giddy like someone half her age.

The last button was a stubborn little fucker, but Jack was determined. Spread legs parted further so that he could rock forward, but the final button refused to admit defeat. His wife cheered, joined by Zoe and Mia with as much enthusiasm they could muster. They may as well have cheered in their sleep. Mia was about to ask Zoe what the hell kind of material was used for clothing in Louisiana hen something loudly snapped.

Jack assumed the sound was either the seams of his shirt popping or a rib breaking under the pressure of all the food. The splintering of wood followed, and just as the hem of his front split down the center, his chair collapsed under him. Mia half expected the floor boards to go the way of the chair, but the wretched son of a bitch remained where he sat.

Bewildered, he looked around at what happened, at a loss for words, then finally gestured at the broken wood. 

"S'that damn dry rot."

Marguerite, whom the others expected to pitch a fit over the ruined furniture, laughed instead. She eyed her husband up and down, picking up the serving tray.

"My, my, my," she drawled, kneeling and holding the tray within reach. "What a big appetite you have." 

Smiling, Jack gripped the placket of his shirt and yanked, eliminating the last button once and for all. He reached into the torso and plucked out a slimy kidney, holding it close to inhale its scent like a fine wine.

"All the better to eat 'im with," he replied, devouring it in one bite.

Zoe and Mia glanced at one another, agreeing without uttering a word. Mr. And Mrs. Baker were in some kinda mood that required privacy, and that meant they stayed put while everyone else hauled their asses elsewhere. Zoe had never known what sort of kinky shit her parents got up to back when things were normal, and she sure as hell was not keen on finding out now. Mia however let her curiosity get the better of her, and stole one last glance of what she could only compare to the mating of slugs. Except with faces.

“Poor Lucas,” Mia remarked. She couldn’t have sounded any less indifferent if she tried.

"Well one thing's for sure,” Zoe said as they reached the fork in their path, one way leading to the trailer, the other to the attic. “He finally found a way to gain daddy's approval."


End file.
